Although I don’t feel moved, I must do soon.
Your views scorch air. I’m in their shadows’ land.
You are more masculine, a sun at noon.
Me, an acquiescent distaff hand,
an unassuming dark side of a moon.
We are not close. Between us ocean sea.
We email, Skype, work on a website, too.
The bulk of our joint talk’s not intimacy.
Short communication. The bullet need to
clarify a point and move on quickly.
So I must move on quick—not run away,
but grow a balancing identity;
not end but change your influence, my say,
by making stronger running commentary.
Author: Damian Robin